


Frayed Edges

by tielan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Gen, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Movie(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner Abuse (referenced)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s one thing to know that Steve would go to the wall for Bucky Barnes – hell, isn't that what Sam’s been doing hanging around with Steve for the last two years? It’s another to believe he’d do the same for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frayed Edges

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



 

Sam Wilson tries to learn from other people’s mistakes as well as his own. It saves time and energy not to have to go through it himself.

He doesn’t think choosing to side with Steve was a mistake, though. He conscientiously objected to being required to work for the UN as an Avenger, and ending up in this place - ‘the Raft’, as the guards call it – is the consequence.

 _I hope you’ve learned your lesson,_ General Ross said when he came to visit shortly after they were put into their cells. Frankly, t he only ‘lesson’ Sam is learning around here is that the guards are bastards, and their tolerance level for anything beyond ‘obedient prisoner’ is really low.

Lying on his bed with his hand shading his eyes from the overhead fluorescent lights, he concentrates on his breathing and tries to ignore the niggling ache in his thigh. He plans to drift off into the hazy state of not-quite-awake that’s started to fill his days, but something about what he’s hearing in the prison makes him frown.

It’s taken him nearly the entire ten days to learn the noises of the prison. There’s a rhythm and a flow to the hum of machinery, the rumble of gears, to the rattle and creak and groan of the prison.

His ears pop.

Sam opens his eyes.

The last time his ears popped like that, along with a change in the noises of the prison, they got a visit from Stark shortly afterwards.

Is he back? Did he find Steve and Barnes and the Winter Soldiers? Or is this someone else?

He eases himself upright, still listening. Barton’s silent, and Lang’s on the other side of Barton, so Sam can’t hear him at all. He can see the edge of Wanda’s cell, although not Wanda. He hasn’t seen her for a few days, actually - she’s started retreating into herself – trauma protection. Either that or... Sam shies away from that thought because he can’t think about it and not want to smash his fists against the door and scream at their captors, and that’ll do nobody good.

New sounds and sensations – the deep hum that underlies everything has fallen silent, and the building seems to sway slightly. There are sounds that don’t quite belong, and the sense of something about to happen.

When the light over the entryway changes to green, signalling a visitor, Sam forces himself to his feet, stepping forward and squinting into the darkness.

It takes him a moment to see, and another to believe what he’s seeing – the stride, the smile, the civilian clothes. And then the relief is so strong it nearly chokes his throat.

It’s one thing to know that Steve would go to the wall for Bucky Barnes – hell, isnt’ that what Sam’s been doing hanging around with Steve for the last two years? It’s another to believe he’d do the same for Sam.

The doors of the cells unlock and slide back.

“Took your time,” Sam says lightly as he steps out, the only words he can manage with a chest too full of feeling.

Steve’s smile is a little feral. “I needed assistance.”

–

“Should have known,” Sam murmurs as the woman strides out of a side room, a slender black drive in her hands. “Do you run a heroes rescue service?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t need saving so often,” Maria tells him with the ghost of a smile that fades when she sees Wanda, bound in the prison uniform.

“We can’t get the restraints off,” Barton explains. “There’s no key.”

Her eyes narrow and she hands Sam the drive, half-studies the coveralls. “It’s probably keyed to one of the guard wands... Okay. We’ve sixty seconds before the alarms are triggered and another thirty after that before the Raft starts descent.” She points at the door, where Steve and Lang have paused. “Get to the Quinjet; we’ll follow.”

Steve looks like he’s about to protest, but a swift and searing glance from Maria as she guides Wanda into the side room makes him rethink.

“Does she ever get better at explanations?” Lang inquires as they hustle through the corridors, Steve leading the way.

Sam stifles a grin at Lang’s query. “Not really.” Then sobriety takes over – if Maria’s here and Barnes isn’t... “What happened to Barnes?”

“He’s in the Quinjet.”

The question of why they left Barnes to mind the quinjet becomes clear as a figure turns from the cockpit display and the broken and tangled skeins of the arm connectors are visible.

“What happened?”

“Stark happened. And Zemo.” Steve is already moving past to pull up more data on the display. “Maria’s getting Wanda out of the restraints. Barton?”

Barton slips into the pilot’s chair. “Channel for comm—? Never mind. Found it. Hill?”

Lang is standing in the hold, frowning. “Who’s Hill?”

Sam takes pity on him.“That would be Maria Hill, formerly with Stark Industries, formerly of S.H.I.E.L.D – Ms. ‘not good with explanations’.” It covers the salient points.

“One of the good guys.” Steve adds, still scrolling through data. “Get yourself strapped in – we’re going to want to get clear the instant Maria and Wanda—.”

“We’re here.” Maria strides up the ramp into the hold, Wanda just ahead of her. Behind them, an alarm begins to blare. “Barton.”

“Strap in and hold onto your hats, because weather indications are that this is going to be rough.”

Sam eases himself down into one of the chairs, and fastens the strap low across his hips, then winces and adjusts his posture a little to ease the strain on his leg. Wanda takes the seat indicated by Steve – between him and Lang – and Maria sits down next to Sam.

“You okay?”

“You got us out. That’s better than okay.”

She nods, almost absently. Her next words are anything but.

“I don’t expect you to tell me what they did to you in there, but you know the price of repression as well as I do.” Her voice is low and her tone is casual, and Sam is kind of floored. The woman is damned scary.

“I’ll get help,” he reassures her, and means it.

–

The facility in Wakanda is an eye-opener in more than one sense.

It’s a new experience not to be the one they’re automatically eyeballing. Even in Europe, he got the first look-over – a black man – even with his clothing, keeping company with Steve. Here, in a place that looks one part Stark Industries lab, one part futuristic sci-fi space station, he walks past people with dreadlocks, with braids, with an afro; their clothing brightly patterned, their body language composed.

They glance up and their eyes skim across Maria, Steve, and Bucky, before they look at Sam and give him a little nod of the head, almost as if to say, _We got you._

Of course, that’s probably not what they’re saying at all; but Sam’s going to take it that way.

“When you said you had friends in unusual places, this wasn’t what I envisioned,” Steve is saying.

Sam agrees, albeit silently. Considering the King of Wakanda had Bucky in his sights, this is quite a turnaround. He’s still not sure he believes that the guy isn’t holding grudges, although Maria’s estimation of the situation counts for a lot. If she says King T’Challa is willing to offer them temporary sancuary, then he’s said it.

Maria smiles – a Mona Lisa’s smile. “Stark Industries has had dealings with the Wakandans for the last fifty years, although it’s been rather more cordial since Pepper took over the company.”

“I can imagine.” Steve manages to sound both a little grim and a little weary. “How is Pepper doing? I heard she and Tony...”

“She’s fine.” Her expression grows careful and polite, and maybe it’s the question, or maybe it’s just that they’ve reached a set of doors in front of which a woman is waiting.

She looks like an elegant businesswoman – well, sort of. The way she holds herself is much the way Maria held herself when she was working at Stark Industries: the clothing was elegant, but she would still kick your ass if you put a finger wrong.

“Maria.”

“Okoye. What’s the news?”

“Same as last time.” Okoye looks them over. “Only three?”

“We dropped the others off at a safehouse.” Barton was relieved to see his wife, even if she looked like she had more than a few things stored up to say about him running off and getting himself imprisoned. “These are the ones I couldn’t shake.”

White teeth flash brightly in her face – a swift and brilliant smile that sobers swiftly. “The matter of the Winter Soldier...”

“...would be best discussed behind secured doors,” Maria interrupts. “I believe your people are trustworthy, Okoye, but the less they know, the better. And we could do with assistance.”

Sam tenses, feeling betrayed that she’s brought it up here and now, even if his body still aches in more places than he can count. He had time for a sponge bath at the safehouse, which gave him the time and the privacy to look himself over, but nothing else.

Then he realises that she’s not indicating him, but Bucky and the frayed edges of the missing metal arm.

–

Sam feels better after a shower and a shave.

It does a man good to feel like he’s a human being again, and not a piece of trash with a number and a list of criminal convictions to his name. Especially when it’s true – however technical and justified the convictions.

He’d like to say he can’t imagine living with a record all his life, but the truth is that he can. At least one of the guys he hung around with as kids went into the system at fourteen and never quite made it out. Sure, Denny made his choices, but he also got unlucky – a black man in a system that sees a thug first and a person second.

He sits on the bed for a moment longer after pulling on his shoes, though, without the wherewithal to go out and face the others.

Maybe he shouldn’t have tagged along after all. There’s a part of him that questions whether following Steve is worth it; and another part that asks why he wouldn’t. But there’s such a thing as blind loyalty, and while he never thought that would be him, he’s starting to wonder. Not that anyone questioned his decision, although Maria and Barton exchanged looks when he added himself to the group going to Wakanda.

But he’s here now, and so he’s going to go out and face his choice.

It turns out ‘his choice’ is Bucky Barnes sitting in the common lounge, watching the Wakandan news with a simultaneous English translation.

The story is focused on King T’Challa’s involvement in the events in Europe, with attendant footage of confrontations between T’Challa and the various Avengers – Steve and Bucky in particular.

“What’re they saying?”

Barnes shrugs. “They’re questioning T’Challa’s decision not to pursue me to the ends of the earth.”

“Ironic.”

“Just a little.” The smile is wary as he looks up at Sam. “How much do you trust Hill?”

Sam doesn’t need to think about that one. “All the way. Hey, if Steve didn’t think it was safe, no way would he have let her bring us here.”

“Yeah, but Steve thinks _I’m_ safe, and I’m not.” Barnes pauses, then points at his head. “Not while I’ve got the triggers up here.”

“Well, this is Wakanda. They can probably help you.” Sam’s done the reading. It’s more than a little impressive – and, perhaps, a little depressing. If Wakanda had stepped up back in the colonial times, led with African politics rather than closing their borders, perhaps the slave trade would never have gotten such a grip on Africa. Then again, maybe they would have been targeted and taken down the way China was by the British, so there’s no telling.

“Maybe.” Barnes doesn’t seem sanguine as he turns the volume down and looks at Sam. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Both Barton and Lang said they took you away for regular ‘questioning’.”

He can hear the inverted commas. His gut tightens. “So?”

The look Barnes gives him is somewhere between ‘I know trauma’ and ‘I wasn’t born yesterday’. Sam manages to hold the cool grey gaze for nearly ten seconds before he drops his gaze. “I’ll deal with it,” he mutters. “At my own pace.”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment. Then he just says, “Okay.”

Not entirely convinced that the other man actually means that, Sam repeats, “Okay.”

“I just said that.”

Hot frustration bubbles underneath his breastbone for a moment. Sam forces it back and starts to stand. “Look, I’m starving. I’m gonna see if there’s anything to—”

The pain resonates through his leg, and he catches his breath as he stumbles. Barnes moves fast, but even speed can’t compensate when the arm that reaches for Sam is missing.

–

“You should have said something.”

Steve is pacing the floor. Frankly, Sam rather wishes he’d stop. For starters, it’s distracting. Then, too, he doesn’t need the reminder that his buddy is superhuman, and Sam is...not.

Presently, he’s laid out on the couch, an ice-pack on his hip, another on the rib that cracked when Barnes fell on it while trying to catch Sam with an arm he no longer has. The sharp pain in his thigh has turned to a dull ache, but only so long as he doesn’t move too sharply.

“Would it have made a difference?”

“We could have gotten you help earlier. _Before_ you tore the tendon.”

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda,” Maria comments as she comes in the door. She weathers Steve’s glare with a shrug. “You know, Rogers, he probably didn’t say anything for the same reason that you decided property damage and the breaking of international treatises was a better solution than calling people who would, I don’t know, _think_ their way through the solution before trashing an airport and setting off an international security manhunt: pride and pigheadedness.”

Over by the window, Bucky makes a noise like a snort. “Are you always this blunt?”

“Yes,” Sam says in perfect synchronisation with Steve, although he’s more resigned than angry.

“Someone has to be.” Maria comes to stand at the end of the couch, her arms folded over her chest. “Wilson, T’Challa’s people are willing to do the reconstruction work, but it’ll require you staying here for the duration of your therapy.”

“Which therapy?” Sam asks bluntly.

“All of them.” Maria doesn’t mince words. “You know it’s necessary.”

Sam knows the need for it; but there’s a difference between the theoretical and the practical – even for someone who’s trained in counselling himself. And then there’s the humiliation of having to admit it in front of Steve who, sure, wouldn’t judge him for it, but when his buddy is the ultimate physical specimen of masculinity, it’s hard  _not_ to try to compensate in another aspect.

He scowls at Maria. “And when was the last time  _you_ went in for counselling?”

“Four years ago, after I spent time as an arms dealer’s ‘guest’ while working with S.H.I.E.L.D.” It’s more honesty from her than Sam expects, and from the flat tone of her voice, it costs her something to say it out loud. “Psychological and mental rehabilitation was part of the process of being accepted back to active duty.”

“I’m sorry.”

One shoulder twitches. “For the record, I spoke with Laura Barton about the possibility of counselling for the others, too.”

“But not Bucky?”

Her gaze drifts from Steve’s outrage and falls on Sam.

It takes him a moment to realise what she’s indicating. “Seriously?”

Another twitch of the shoulder. “Who else could do it?”

It makes a certain kind of sense. Sam has the experience of coaching vets through wartime trauma. Hell, hasn’t he been doing a modified version of dealing with Steve for the last couple of years? And, thanks to his time spent with Steve on the hunt for Bucky, he’s one of the few people in the world capable of seeing Bucky Barnes and not just the Winter Soldier.

Still, there’s an element of the ridiculous to it – compounded by his present prone position. “I thought it’s the patient who’s supposed to be lying on the couch.”

“I’m okay to share with you,” Barnes offers with a glimmer of something like humour.

Maria snorts, while Steve grins. “You might have to tone down the flirting, Buck.”

–

Sam kind of regrets that he won’t get to flirt with Barnes after all.

“Best of a set of bad options, huh?”

“Better than coming out to find I’ve killed someone else to order,” Barnes says, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “You get it, right?”

“I get it.” It feels a bit weird to have Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, seeking his approval. After all, they’ve only really known each other a couple of weeks, even if Sam’s been looking for the guy for two years.

“I’m not sure Steve will.”

Sam thinks it over. “If not, he’ll come around.” And if he doesn’t, then Sam can just point out that this is the first opportunity Bucky’s had to make a choice that’s all his own in decades – probably since they dragged him out of the ice and turned him into a programmable killer. “Hill will bring him around.”

“With a smack on the nose?”

Sam grins at the apt depiction of Steve as a guard dog. “Something like that.” Then he looks at Bucky. “The goal was always to survive, wasn’t it?”

There’s a long moment of silence. “Yeah.”

“You know survival’s not enough.”

“It used to be.”

“Times change and people with it. Sounds trite, I know, but doesn’t make it any less true.” Sam shrugs. “Did the Wakandans look at how to undo the triggers?”

“They’re good with technology; apparently not so great with brainwashing.” Bucky shrugs and looks aside. “And I’m not a weapon you want lying around for anyone to take.”

“You’re not a weapon, fullstop.” Sam waits for Bucky to acknowledge that, and gives up after a too-long silence. “Look, if you had those words out, what would you do?”

A shrug. “What you’re going to do when you get your leg fixed and out of here. What I did after Steve came for me in that prison in the war – follow him to hell and back.”

“Well, I don’t know about _hell._ I think I’d stop at the gates, myself.”

“And how long were you in the Raft?” Bucky grimaces as though just realising what he’s done. “Sorry.”

“Painful, but true.” Sam shifts in the bed; he’s kind of tired of lying in this position, but he’s not really supposed to be moving, either. “He has a certain...magnetic quality about him.”

“He always did. He just has the physical charisma to carry it off now.” Bucky shrugs, a faintly wistful smile. “You’ll look after him, right?”

“I’ll do my best – by both of us.”

Bucky smiles and holds out his hand. Sam takes it and shakes it.

“Good luck.”

“You, too.”

 


End file.
